


The Hunter and the Hunted

by devilinthedetails



Category: PIERCE Tamora - Works, Tortall - Tamora Pierce
Genre: Anal Sex, Emotional Abuse, Hunting, Initiation, M/M, Magical manipulation, Rape/Non-con - Freeform, Sexual Abuse, Underage Sex, Unhealthy Dynamics, manhood, mental manipulation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-31
Updated: 2018-10-31
Packaged: 2019-08-11 03:51:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16468157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/devilinthedetails/pseuds/devilinthedetails
Summary: With Roger, Alex is both the hunter and the hunted.





	The Hunter and the Hunted

**Author's Note:**

> This story contains all sorts of abusive and unhealthy dynamics. Please do not read if that might trigger you.

The Hunter and the Hunted

The hounds howled into the wailing winter wind. They had cornered the wild boar Roger’s hunting party had been chasing for an hour again the broad trunk of a towering oak. The boar’s tusks thrust at the dogs, but Roger could see the creature was exhausted and vulnerable from its flight. 

Now was the time for the hunted to become the killed, and for his squire to undergo another bloody initiation into manhood. 

“Dismount and slay the beast, squire,” Roger ordered Alex, who rode beside him through the Royal Forest. “With your own dagger.” 

Roger didn’t have to add, “Don’t disappoint me.” His squire would hear that eternal command in his tone and obey or be punished for defiance. 

Alex didn’t resist now any more than he had when Roger had decided that he should accompany Roger on his boar hunt with Lord Imrah of Legann and Earl Hamrath of King’s Reach. That had been two days ago. Alex had been polishing his sword when Roger had laid a hand on his shoulder, and his arm had stopped moving beneath Roger’s palm as Roger asked, “You’ve never been on a boar hunt, have you, Alex?” 

“No, Your Grace.” Alex resumed polishing the sword though at a slower pace as if Roger’s touch made him somehow uncertain. 

“Then we must remedy that at once. A boy doesn’t become a man until he slays his first wild boar.” Roger slapped Alex’s shoulder encouragingly, and Alex polished the sword with more vigor. “Two days hence, you’ll accompany me on my boar hunt with Lord Imrah and Earl Hamrath. Then you can take another step closer to manhood.” 

“Yes, sir.” Alex nodded, his gaze resting almost longingly on the blade he polished so diligently. Young Tirragen had a thirst for blood, a trait that made him very useful indeed…

Smiling at the memory, Roger watched as Alex’s thirst for blood was on full display in how rapidly he dispatched the boar. His booted feet quiet in the blanketing white snow, Alex crept toward the beast. Moving swift as an eye blink, Alex’s silver dagger sliced the boar’s throat. A scarlet spout of blood showered the snow, and more followed a heartbeat later as Alex plunged his dagger into the boar’s spasming chest. 

Alex’s hands—he had removed his gloves for the dirty business of butchering the boar—were soaked with blood up to his wrists. He knelt to wash them in a snowbank as Roger lead the rest of the party in a rousing applause that raised hollies in Alex’s cheeks. The ambitious boy was so easily flattered by any small recognition. It made him remarkably straightforward to manipulate despite his best attempts at inscrutability. 

Roger had provided more such acknowledgement after they left the gray sky and white snow of the woods behind. As they stood in Roger’s parlor, warming their outstretched hands over the cackling fire in his hearth, he said, reaching out to clasp Alex’s chilled fingers between his own, “Your hands were so sure—so stone cold—when you slew the boar.” 

“Thank you, Your Grace.” Alex’s cheeks burned red as the flames in the fireplace—“but I don’t want to be stone cold any longer.” 

“Your cheeks aren’t stone cold any more.” Roger lifted his hands from Alex’s to cup the fires his words had ignited in Alex’s cheeks. “I seemed to have warmed them. I could warm all of you if you’d like.” 

“What do you mean, sir?” Alex’s eyes were black, blank olives as they gaped at Roger. 

“I mean I’ll make us mulled wine.” Roger pulled a vintage of fine Tyran wine—never anything but perfection for him—from his cupboard and began mixing it into a kettle with an exotic, irresistible blend of Carthaki spices he knew would dazzle his squire’s inexperienced tongue. He kept his back to the boy, concealing the powder—a sleeping one of his own invention to make his squire pliant for his pleasure because penetrating Alex would be the culmination of his hunt, the capturing of his true query—that he stirred into the wine. As he placed the kettle over the fire, unleashing an aroma he knew the boy would find intoxicating, Roger arched an eyebrow at his squire. “What did you think I meant?” 

“Nothing, Your Grace.” Alex bowed his head but that couldn’t hide his mounting flush. 

“While we wait for the wine, you should remove your wet cloak.” Roger slid the cloak from Alex’s shoulder, draping it on a screen depicting a hunt in front of the heath, and coaxed Alex onto a sofa by the fireplace. To replace the cloak, he snaked his own arm around the boy’s slender but strong shoulders. He massaged the tension from the taut blades and then the knots from the nape of Alex’s neck before the heady scent of the mulled wine permeating the room assured him it was ready for pouring. 

He served himself and Alex a mug, pretending to sip from his as Alex swallowed more and more of the wine, his eyes beginning to droop. 

Roger felt a thrill as he brushed his lips against Alex’s slackening mouth. He waited until he felt the boy’s lips bruising beneath his. Then he flicked his tongue inside Alex’s mouth, probing while his hands roamed underneath his squire’s shirt. 

His fingers closed around Alex’s nipples, which he pinched to perkiness. Several sharp tugs on the boy’s nipples went delightfully without protest. Confident that his squire was too blacked out to remember anything inflicted on his body, Roger carried Alex into his bedchamber. 

He deposited Alex onto the boy’s bed as a groom might his bride. Unbuttoning Alex’s breeches and yanking them down to his ankles, Roger surveyed the cock he exposed. He teased his fingers along its length before bending Alex’s backside into position over a pillow. 

He lowered his own breeches, spat in the boy’s hole for lubricant, ground his hips against Alex’s to arouse himself fully, and then pushed into his squire. He pounded Alex into the pillow, heating himself enveloping himself ever more deeply into the boy’s tight warmth. He spent himself inside Alex, cleaned the boy with rough swipes of the wash towel on his nightstand, and then dressed Alex in his nightshirt, tucking him snugly beneath his blankets. 

Perching at the foot of Alex’s bed, he waited for the boy to awaken, emerging from the oblivion Roger’s sleeping powder had induced. At last Alex stirred, rubbing at bleary eyes and stroking temples Roger knew must be throbbing from the powder he had slipped into the mulled wine. 

“What happened, sir?” Alex stared around his bedchamber as if he had never seen it and couldn’t fathom how he had wound up here of all places. “Last thing I remember I was drinking wine. Then everything goes blank.” 

“Of course it does.” Roger laid a palm on the boy’s forehead, ensuring under the guise of comfort that any memory of their intercourse was erased. “You drank rather too much wine too quickly and passed out like a stone. I had to carry you in here to sleep off the wine.” 

“I’m in my nightshirt.” Alex bit his lip as he apparently came to an awkward realization of who must have changed him. “Did you…” 

“I couldn’t allow you to sleep in your hunting clothes.” With a gently chiding smile, Roger patted Alex’s knee. “Don’t tell me you’re embarrassed that I undressed you. I’m your knightmaster. You should never be ashamed of having an intimate relationship with me, Alex.”


End file.
